


Coming Down

by orphan_account



Series: Reunion [2]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker
Genre: Family, Father Figures, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-22 13:33:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7441123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To say the King is unaccustomed to being taken care of would be an understatement. </p>
<p>(Takes place after "Reunion")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic for my anonymous commissioner, who was kind enough to request a bit of sickfic love for the King. 
> 
> He deserves a little extra affection and care, don't you think?

Life is going pretty well for the little cobbled-together family on Outset Island. Grandma is in good health and spirits (cooking all the time has become one of her great joys again). Aryll is constantly running around, growing more knowledgeable by the day (it would almost be scary if she were anything but the wise and sweet child that she is). Link comes to visit as often as he can (which is often, now that his whole family is together). And the King…seems to be coming down with something.

It’s so unfamiliar, after having inhabited the body of a wooden boat for so long, that he almost doesn’t recognize what it is at first. (A boat doesn’t get sick, after all. Or at least, _he_ hadn’t.) But then he takes the time to note the aches, the chills, the scratchy feeling in the back of his throat. And the way his vision swims when he tries to sit up in bed too fast, prompting a quick return to his pillow. Not to mention the utter exhaustion after what he would usually consider a very good night’s sleep. He ought to be up and out and about by now, perhaps helping to cook breakfast, or maybe allowing Aryll to introduce him to a new part of the island he hasn’t seen yet (and there are a truly shocking number of those). He shouldn’t still be _here_ , and that’s for certain.

And that’s probably what’s most frustrating about the whole affair—the knowledge that he _should_ be feeling fine and ready to face the day, but instead his physical being is much more interested in never leaving his bed again.

So he’s definitely sick, and it is _definitely_ unwelcome, especially coming so soon after reuniting with Link and becoming an unofficial part of the family. Shallowly, he simply doesn’t want to be _seen_ like this, either.

Not yet (or ever).

He mentally chastises himself for such a petty though, but it _is_ the truth. If not invincible, he’d at the very least like to be considered hearty. Somewhat on the tough side of things. It’s what he is accustomed to, and surely he can’t be blamed for that. But it’s barely been a few weeks, and he’s already got this cold (or flu? he isn’t sure) come to knock him down a few pegs.

In addition to that, it’s just sheer awful unluckiness that this happens to be one of the weeks Link has returned home to visit. Of course. _Of course._ Because, naturally, the very first thing he’d wanted to do during this visit was to worry the boy out of his mind. (And he _will_ worry—that’s just a fact. Of the numerous things Link is very good at, worrying is definitely somewhere high up on the list.)

In that case, he decides it’s time to pretend everything is fine and hope it all works out for the best in the end. So he forces himself out of bed, ignoring the way every joint in his body wants to creak and pop, and begins the slow, painful process of getting dressed and ready for the day.

He’s _just_ pulling on his socks when he hears a knock on the door. Knowing he has about a 75/25 percent chance of it being either Link or Aryll, he manages to get out a croaky, “Come in,” for whoever is on the other side. It’s not exactly a great start to his day of pretending to be fine, but what else is he supposed to do? Trying to keep them out would certainly be a dead giveaway.

His money would have been on Link, but nobody ever said he was any good at betting, either.

Aryll marches in, opens her mouth to say something…and immediately stops. Stares at him. Then, as politely as usual, asks him, “King Daphnes Nohansen Hyrule, is something wrong?” It would be funny how she’s still insistent upon using his full title, if she didn’t already have him caught in a lie he hasn’t even told yet. 

_That was fast._ What gave it away? Is he flushed? Sweaty? Did he put his shirt on backwards? He quickly looks down, scrutinizes himself. No, it’s nothing like that. She must just be unusually perceptive today (as if she isn’t on any other day). Knowing he won’t possibly be able to fool a smart girl like Aryll, he heaves an inward sigh and decides to come right out and say it. “I feel…unwell, I suppose you could say.”

“Oh, so _that’s_ why you look so tired.” _Ah, so that’s how she knew something was different today._ “There’s a virus that’s been going around the island, haven’t you heard?” He had not, so he shakes his head. He should probably try to keep better track of these things. “Yeah, it’s a nasty one, but everyone seems to be recovering okay with enough fluids and bed-rest. So you’ll get to eat Grandma’s soup! That’s lucky…although you won’t be feeling it, I’m sure…” she takes a moment to consider something, “So you’re tired now, but are you achy?” he tries to answer her, but she continues right on that train of though without him, “What about feverish? I’ll have to get the thermometer. Do you have chills? Does your stomach hurt? Some people get that symptom, and other people don’t. It’s sort of hit or miss. Are you coughing yet? Lots of people are losing their voices, too, and yours is kinda raspy already. Does your throat hurt? I should go get my big brother, he’s probably better at this than I a—” 

“No, don’t—” so many questions, none of which he had managed to answer, but it’s the last part that really has him concerned, and the plea is out of his mouth before he honestly knows how he’s going to finish the sentence.

She blinks. “Don’t what? Go get Link?”

He clears his throat, feeling more than slightly awkward. “Yes, don’t…tell him, please. You know this will pass, so I am thankful you aren’t overly concerned, but Link…worries. Unnecessarily. I don’t want to be the cause of that worry any more than I absolutely must be.”

The girl cocks her head to the side, obviously confused. “But…Link will _have_ to know. He’s going to know eventually, because you’re only going to get sicker until this passes. There’s no way he won’t find out, even if I don’t tell him. And he’ll be upset that you didn’t say anything sooner. And then, even if you don’t want him to make a fuss after all that, you know he’s going to." 

Sometimes she’s too smart for him to keep up with. Whether that has anything to do with the mild fever he’s sure he must be running is anyone’s guess. “Yes, but it’s not a problem at the moment.” It’s sort of a lie, or perhaps more of a half-truth. “I am fine—or, rather, I _will_ be fine.” _That_ part is true. “I do not believe it is fair to anyone—Link especially—to get everyone all worked up over what will turn out to be nothing in the end.” 

Famous last words. 

Aryll sighs. 

It turns out that he _cannot_ hide this from Link—who, much like Aryll, immediately knows something is wrong the second he sees him. Bless them both for their good hearts, but he’s once again filled with regret, as he knows the great concern this will bring them over the next few days—at least. He’s thankful he has Aryll to mediate the situation and help explain everything for him (it turns out she was right about the whole sore throat thing), but the crease of worry that appears between Link’s brows is enough to make his heart clench.

Even worse, Link diligently resolves himself to take on the role of caretaker, which is the exact _opposite_ of what Daphnes had wanted. He hadn’t come back to cause problems or strife or worry for anyone, and now he is doing just that. But he certainly can’t push Link _away_ —not when he looks so troubled over the whole thing. It’s probably best to allow him to stay close, to prove that this is not as big a deal as it may seem. Everything is going to turn out just fine in the end. He knows this, and he needs to give Link a chance to figure it out for himself as well.

So he coughs and sputters his way through the rest of the day, sipping water and eating soup when prompted, blowing his nose and feeling like an utter mess the rest of the time. Link makes him change back into his pajamas and get back into bed, all the while fussing over him (as Aryll had promised he would). It’s a little embarrassing, but he recognizes there’s not a whole lot of dignity in being ill. Essentially, this whole situation feels like some kind of weird role-reversal—being taken care of is awkward and backwards, and he really doesn’t know what to do to make it come any more naturally.

Isn’t _he_ supposed to be the one looking after _Link_ , after all? 

Still, it’s not all bad. The soup is good, as it always is. Being in bed all day is strange, and it’s not exactly a respite from anything (his normal daily activities are rather enjoyable and by no means strenuous), but it’s nice to have Link around all the time. He appreciates the company more than words can convey (which is probably a good thing, because he is rapidly losing what is left of his voice). Link obviously has some experience in this—possibly from taking care of his grandmother when she isn’t feeling well? Whatever the case, he’s very patient and gentle in everything he does, and it’s almost a wonder to be taken care of by one so much younger than he. Daphnes knows he will inevitably get worse before he gets better—he fully expects it, after Aryll’s description of the symptoms—but at the moment, it could certainly _be_ worse. He’ll look for the little rays of sunshine behind the clouds for as long as he is able.

This continues into his second day of illness, when Link seems to relax just a little as he realizes his beloved father figure isn’t actively dying. _That_ is certainly a great load off of the King’s shoulders, no matter which way you look at it.

Link still hovers, though. And illness and all its germs be damned, _that_ seems to be far more contagious in this household, because Aryll has started doing it too. She explains herself when Link is out of earshot, saying, “The second or third day is usually the worst, because that’s when the fever gets really bad. My brother hasn’t been home long enough to hear about it, so I don’t want him to panic when it happens.”

That makes sense, although he feels _fine_ at the moment. Definitely not the best he’s ever felt, but certainly not like he’s on the brink of some awful fever spell. He probably will be able to wait until tomorrow before things get really bad.

That is, until his temperature abruptly spikes. 

It’s late in the evening—long past dinner, but Link is still sitting by his side. He hazily has to wonder if the boy had even gotten a chance to have his evening meal himself, somewhere in between running around on his behalf. Or if he’s particularly comfortable in that hard-backed wooden chair. Or if he had managed to get enough rest last night. Or why the room seems to be spinning around him—and how long has that been going on for, exactly? Everything is kind of a blur, which is a new sort of symptom he’s not sure he likes. But then he feels something cool slipped between his lips—the thermometer—and obediently allows someone—Aryll? Link? someone…blonde…—to hold it there. Then he hears Link’s audible gasp at the reading. That can’t be good.

Someone—Aryll, he thinks?—tries to explain something to him—about the fever rocketing upwards as she had expected it to, then a bunch of other details he is definitely too far out of it to listen to or comprehend in any reasonable manner. 

Link paces the room, hands clasped together tightly in agitation. Aryll must have explained the situation to him—she said she’d do that, didn’t she? or had he imagined that?—but he still seems tense as ever. Even in his half-delirious state, the King can see how anxious he is, and curses himself and his weak body for ever causing the boy this kind of concern. Though it _is_ nice to have someone there to watch over him and change the cool cloth on his forehead every ten minutes, he never would have asked for it to be like this. 

Despite having his thought process greatly slowed down by fever, he knows where Link’s distress is coming from. Having seemingly _just_ returned from the dead, Daphnes knows his hold on life must appear tenuous, temporary—weaker than those properly born into this day and age. This sudden illness is proof of his mortality, and it comes across as nothing less than _scary._ Not for him—he’d crossed that bridge already and does not fear death—but for Link, terrified of losing such an important person from his life. Again. He’s had more than enough experience in tragedy and losing people for a boy his age. The King had done it to him once already, so it makes sense he’d have retained that deep-seated fear that he will go away again.

Daphnes knows he’s not dying. He _knows_ it. He’ll get better, and then everything will go back to normal again. (Or, as normal as having a dead human-turned-boat-turned-human again brought back to life and living on your tiny home island with your family can possibly be, anyway.)

But (just in case), he still makes a little promise, unspoken but no less important for it, that he isn’t going anywhere. Not today, and not for a long time. He owes Link that much. And that much, he can do.

So he coughs and hacks well into the night, sore throat growing sorer, chest aching, exhaustion growing—and Link is there the entire time. He sounds horrible to his _own_ ears, and he can’t even _imagine_ what it must be like for his small companion, but there’s nothing he can do about it. It’s all about weathering the storm. (He would laugh at his own boat-themed joke if it wouldn’t hurt too much…and if it wouldn’t cause Link to consider whether or not he’s truly gone off the deep end. Another boat joke. Maybe he should write these down. But not now, of course. Now he just wants to sleep this off and never feel this awful ever again.) 

So sleep he attempts, in little fits and bits and pieces. Link is always there when he awakens, to wipe sweat from his brow or to give him a few sips of water. And he desperately wants to tell the child to relax, to retire for the night as well, because there’s no way this could possibly be doing him any good at all. Physical stress and exhaustion on top of emotional stress has never been a good position for Link, and he would _try_ to explain his concerns if he thought it would make any difference at all. 

But it wouldn’t, so he doesn’t. 

Mercifully, the coughing dies down sometime far past midnight (yet still before morning light), and he thinks he’s finally going to be able to sleep for more than a few minutes now, when suddenly Link’s hand is in his. He hears a sniff, sees the boy scrub fiercely at his eyes with the back of his other hand. He gives the hand in his a reassuring squeeze—it’s all he can do, for now. When he feels the squeeze returned in kind, he knows his message has been heard loud and clear. Then he’s out like a light, left with only the thought that this _has_ to be better by tomorrow morning. At least a little. 

Sure enough, he awakens the next day feeling _disgusting,_ but approximately one thousand times better than the night before. The disgusting feeling, he can attribute to the fact that he’s sweaty and sticky with the residue of last night’s nightmarish fever. He’s certain he must _look_ at least twice as gross as he feels, but appearances are the last thing he’s concerned with at the moment. He glances at the clock on the wall, grimaces when he realizes it’s already mid-afternoon, and tries to sit up in bed. 

The key word here being “tries.”

Something heavy on his chest is weighing him down, and it doesn’t take a genius to realize it’s Link. The boy must have crawled into bed with him sometime in the early hours of the morning, probably to listen to his breathing and heartbeat (something he likes to do even when the King is perfectly well), and fallen asleep there. He likely hadn’t even noticed how completely he’d managed to wear himself out—though everyone around him had certainly known. 

The King chuckles a little—accidentally bringing forth a coughing fit, though Link doesn’t stir—and gently reaches down to pat the blond head resting right over his heart. Link mumbles something, curls up closer until his face is effectively smushed into the King’s collarbone, and stills again.

Despite himself, Daphnes feels a swell of happiness as he looks down at his semi-adopted son. This little unconscious show of affection is so real and so human, he can hardly believe it’s happening to him. He wonders what wonderful thing he must have done in order to deserve this kind of joy in his life. He aches still, and knows he probably has (at a bare minimum) a few days to go before he’s feeling completely like himself again. But no matter his physical state, it’s always nice to feel loved and wanted and _needed_ , even in the most unpleasant of situations.

(And _boy_ is he needed four days later, when Link—unsurprisingly—comes down with the exact same thing.)


	2. Chapter 2

Daphnes is barely back on his feet again when the virus hits Link like a ton of bricks.

Granted, it was almost guaranteed to happen. It would have been _more_ surprising if he _hadn’t_ managed to catch it. Going for days on only minimal rest _plus_ the weight of emotional stress _plus_ spending all your time in a germ-infested area is a complete recipe for disaster. The disaster, of course, is catching the virus and having it wreak havoc on your immune system in whichever way it pleases.

And wreak havoc it does. Link ends up with the short end of the stick in that the havoc starts off that morning not with aches and chills, but with a persistent queasiness and his body’s all out rejection of any kind of nourishment that isn’t clear and liquid. (And, after a short while, with more than a slight rejection of the clear liquids as well.) 

This, naturally, leaves him beyond exhausted and confined completely to bed by mid-afternoon. Feeling horrible on top of dehydration leaves him utterly spent. He spends the majority of his time sleeping fitfully when he isn’t busy throwing up virtually nothing, and throwing up virtually nothing when he isn’t busy sleeping fitfully.

The King is sort of at a loss. Aryll has said this might happen when she’d first listed off all the possible symptoms, but he hadn’t experienced this particular symptom himself. Still, he knows the _basics_ of what to do (in that there isn’t really a whole lot he _can_ do until the bug works its way out of Link’s system). All he can do for now is try to alleviate the worst of the discomfort, and _Link_ certainly isn’t complaining, so he figures back rubs and comforting words are probably his safest bet for the time being.

And then the chills and fever start up at the same time, which leaves him scrambling to hold a bucket under Link’s chin while pressing a cool cloth to the back of his neck at the same time. It’s a bit of a mess, but he doesn’t know what else to do.

Needless to say, he’s absolutely beside himself with worry—topped with the guilt of having been the one to pass this on to his semi-adopted son. He hadn’t exactly been in his own right mind at the time, but he can’t help but feel the weight of his own responsibility for the current situation. He hadn’t considered the potential ramifications of allowing himself to be taken care of at the time—Link is usually so healthy and quick to bounce back from any scrape or bruise, he’d never thought something like this would bring him crashing down so quickly.

Aryll is summarily banned from his room for fear she might contract it as well, if she hasn’t already. By extension, Grandma stays out of the way too, only coming in long enough to bring more water or broth. The King is thankful for both of their willingness to help, but if _Link_ is this sick already, there’s no telling how badly the virus would affect either of them. He’s the only member of their little family who is effectively immune, since he’d already had and gotten over it. If either of them were to catch it as well…he’s not really sure what he would do. He can only be in so many places at once, and he can’t imagine the stress of caring for _two_ people at the same time, let alone all three of them.

Thankfully, for the moment, he doesn’t have to think about it too much. As long as they stay out of the way, there should be no need to fret. They both seem healthy enough, and he decides to dedicate his time to worrying over the one who needs worrying over at this exact moment.

Still, he doesn’t regret the caretaker role he’s been pushed into in the least. It’s difficult to watch Link struggle like this, but he’s glad for every ounce of comfort he can bring (even with the unglamorous duty of vomit cleanup). Sometimes Link wants to be held—particularly when the fever fluctuates and he’s wracked with a horrible set of chills. It’s at these times when the King feels most useful, using his own warmth to provide comfort. Other times, however, Link doesn’t want to be touched by anything at all, mumbling apologetically as he pushes the blankets off the end of the bed (only for Daphnes to have to pick them up again ten minutes later as the cycle repeats itself over).

It’s not completely thankless work, though. He can tell Link is grateful to have him there, despite the embarrassment at being seen at his weakest—and the rare moments when he can catch the child sleeping peacefully are more than enough to bolster his spirits and reassure him that this will all pass.

That doesn’t make it any less heartbreaking to watch Link suffer, though. He’s thankful _he_ hadn’t had such an upset stomach towards the beginning of his illness, but he would have taken it a thousand times over if it meant Link wouldn’t have to go through this. But that’s not the way the world works, so all he can do is watch and help where and when he can.

It’s when Link begins refusing fluids altogether that they start to have a problem.

“Come on, son, you _have_ to,” he pleads, trying to pass a teaspoon of water between the boy’s lips. It’s only a teaspoon—they’ve figured out a system that allows him to get at least _some_ hydration, even though it’s a very laborious and time-consuming operation. Any fluids are better than no fluids, after all.

Link shakes his head, looking the very picture of misery, and tries to pull the covers up over his face again.

“Oh no you don’t,” Daphnes doesn’t want to fight with him, but still pulls the blankets back down again. He doesn’t want to have to do anything that will make Link any more uncomfortable than he already is. He’s certainly in enough agony all on his own. But Daphnes _has_ to draw the line somewhere, and that somewhere happens to be at the point where Link is doing himself more harm than good. “I know your stomach isn’t feeling well, but it will be so much worse if you get dehydrated. One little spoonful, okay? Then we’ll try some more in five minutes if it stays down.”

Link shakes his head vigorously this time, then his eyes widen. Realizing what he’s just done to himself—made completely dizzy at the worst possible time—the King quickly gets a hand behind his back, helping him get upright just in time to retch pitifully into the bucket by his feet. Hardly anything comes up, and Daphnes can offer no words of comfort as Link scrubs at his watery eyes and runny nose from exertion. 

_So much for those teaspoons_ , he sighs internally. Now there will be absolutely _no_ convincing him to drink, even as he accepts the whole glass long enough to rinse the sour taste of bile out of his mouth. He can’t say he entirely blames him, but at the same time it’s frustrating to see someone refuse what is obvious they desperately need.

In addition to the one frustration is another, Daphnes thinks, because this is the first time he’s really had the opportunity to care for Link _properly._ Along their journey he had offered advice and helped where he could, but the sheer nature of his form had prevented him from really _doing_ anything when things got bad. He couldn’t patch up scrapes or hold ice to bruises. Couldn’t offer a proper hug during lonely or despondent times. Words and only words were the tools he had at his disposal, and now that he can do _more,_ do _better,_ that’s all he can focus on.

Not that he wants to be completely overbearing, it’s just that…well, maybe he _does_ want that, just a little. Just enough to smother the boy in all the love he was unable to really give as a boat.

That sounds ridiculous even just in his head, but he doesn’t have much time to ponder on it as Link whines, clamps a hand over his mouth, and makes the unfortunate decision to throw up _through_ his fingers and onto the bed-sheets.

Daphnes sighs internally, strips the bedding off as Link tries to offer mortified apologies, and they start over again. Such is life.

By the next morning, the King is sore and exhausted from sitting in the uncomfortable chair he’d pulled up to Link’s bedside, but one look at the child is enough to tell he’d had a much rougher night. Still, he accepts the very first spoonful of water Daphnes offers without complaint, and that’s more than enough cause for celebration. Soon, he’s drinking from the cup again, all signs of yesterday’s horrible nausea completely gone, and things finally seem to be looking up again.

Until he starts coughing.

_This_ particular symptom, the King is much more familiar with on a personal level, so he’s not exactly surprised when it crops up sometime after what would normally be lunchtime. It sounds painful and harsh to his own ears, and he can only imagine how awful it must feel against Link’s acid-burned throat. They’re both in it for the long haul now, he suspects, and is proven more and more correct as the coughing continually gets worse as the day drags on.

It doesn’t help that his fever is climbing, either. This surely must be the beginning of the dangerous spike in temperature that is characteristic of the virus. The King only has vague recollections of this time, but he knows damn well it’s going to be unpleasant, uncomfortable, and inconvenient as far as the healing process goes. The knowledge that it’s also a necessary step towards getting better isn’t much of a comfort, in all honesty. It would be much, much better if they could simply fast-forward and skip to the part where Link begins to _feel_ better already.

Sure enough, he’s absolutely _roasting_ by bedtime, and the tremors running through his slight frame are enough to shake the entire bed. The King feels a deep pang of sympathy as the boy pulls all his covers around himself in a desperate but fruitless attempt to stave off the imaginary chill. “Do you want me to hold you?” he offers. He has nothing else to give until the fever breaks.

Link nods, and Daphnes arranges himself on the bed so the boy can lay mostly in his lap. It doesn’t seem to help the shuddering much, but he still seems more comfortable somehow. Perhaps its simply the closeness that gives him some semblance of relief. The King feels helpless as he watches the shallow breathing and hears the rattle of phlegm in his chest. He gently pats his back as another coughing fit starts up, wondering if this is really all he can do until the worst of it passes. He re-dampens the cloth on Link’s forehead, and the boy makes a sound of displeasure as it is replaced, trying to shrug away from the coolness. This is one area in which Daphnes will not let up, however, so he reluctantly stills and allows the cloth to remain in place.

They stay like that for a long time, Daphnes absentmindedly stroking Link’s hair or offering him sips of water in the moments when he isn’t helping him through painful episodes of coughing. Link continues to shiver despite their shared body warmth and the mound of blankets he’s hiding under. This is what the King had wanted to be able to do while they were still traveling together—it’s in his fatherly instincts, after all—but he never would have wished for it to happen like this. If he had his way, Link would never have caught this to begin with, and they could be spending the evening doing literally anything else. He’s thinking on the complexities of their situation—the long list of what would be preferable to this—when Link abruptly stills.

Has the fever broken? That was fast…perhaps a bit too fast? But the fact of the matter is, he’s ceased shivering, at least for the moment. “Link?” he questions, wondering if he’s truly recovering this quickly. That would be a miracle and a blessing to them both. 

But Link doesn’t open his eyes. Is he sleeping…?

Louder, he tries, “Link.” 

Again, no response.

The King begins to panic, resisting the urge to shake him. A quick check reveals he’s still _breathing,_ but what is—what’s happening? Why won’t he wake up? He’s heard of people suffering brain damage from high temperatures, so maybe that’s…? All while he was caught up in his own selfish, asinine thoughts. He should have been paying more attention. “Link!” he calls more forcefully, not wanting to startle him but at the same time _needing_ to know he’s alright. _Needing_ to know he hasn’t missed something crucial. _Needing_ to— 

He gets the answer he’s looking for when Link suddenly _leaps_ out of bed, getting completely tangled in his blankets on the way down. He scrambles, nearly falling—and would certainly have cracked his head on the bed-frame if not for the King’s quick reflexes.

“Easy, easy, relax,” Daphnes soothes, gently tugging his charge back into bed, “What’s the matter? What happened?”

The shaking returns in full-force and Link scurries out of his grasp, huddling into one corner of his bed. His eyes are wide, surveying the room rapidly as if he expects to be attacked at any moment. He’s trying to make himself as small as possible—less of a target—to whatever he _thinks_ is out to get him at the present moment.

Daphnes quickly realizes he must be delirious. He has very little experience in dealing with situations like these, but he knows he can’t simply sit there and do _nothing_. He decides to take it as slowly as he can manage. “Link, look at me,” seems like a good place to start.

Link does, but only long enough to rule him out as a threat before his eyes go back to flitting around his surroundings, searching out those imaginary enemies produced by his stressed and frazzled psyche.

“Do you know where you are?” the King tries instead. If he doesn’t, he’s not sure _what_ he’ll do…

A deep, shuddering breath in, followed by several painful-sounding coughs. Then a head-shake. The King’s heart drops—but then, tentatively, a nod. Thank goodness for that. 

He continues on. “Do you know who _I_ am?”

Link takes a moment away from looking around to stare at him. It’s almost like he’s looking right _through_ him, and the King has to admit it’s a little unsettling. Still, he receives another nod, frantic this time, as an answer. That’s a relief, but nothing he says seems to have any sort of calming effect. He’ll have to try a different tactic…

“May I touch you?”

A long pause, Link thinking hard on the matter. He blinks. Then, slowly this time, nods again.

Ever so cautiously, the King eases himself up onto the bed, leaning with his back against the wall. He waits for Link to take the initiative and crawl into his lap once more. He’s still looking nervously around the room, though, and Daphnes can feel his heart pounding in his chest between full-body shivers. Carefully, he leans down to retrieve the blankets from the floor, wrapping them both in a sort of protective cocoon.

“Do you still see what you were seeing before?” he wonders if the fit has passed.

A head-shake. Even despite the fever, Daphnes can see the tips of his ears going pink. _Is he embarrassed…?_ He certainly hopes not, but that seems the most likely candidate.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sometimes it’s best to let these things out into the open, he knows. 

Another negative.

“Okay, you don’t have to. I just need you to know that you are safe. When I am here, you will always be safe. I will protect you from anything that frightens you. You don’t have to be worried or embarrassed that I won’t believe you.” Link shifts awkwardly in his lap, confirming his suspicions. “You are not feeling well, and your mind is playing tricks on you, but that’s no reason you should have to feel alone. I will be here.”

Link makes a small contented noise—which leads to a not-so-small coughing fit.

Glad that he’s been heard, glad that Link knows he’s not alone, and glad to have such a brilliant little light in his life, the King rubs his back.

They sit in silence for a long time—the King, listening to Link’s unsteady breathing, and Link slowly drifting in and out of hazy consciousness as the fever burns within him. Daphnes isn’t sure which one of them truly drops off first (he suspects it may be him) but he makes sure to lay a gentle hand across Link’s chest, just in case he should need him. Just in case he needs reassurance that he’s still there to make good on his promise.

Link’s fever breaks sometime in the middle of the night.

Daphnes awakens the next morning to a sweaty, exhausted child in his lap, snoozing away under the weight of last night’s events. He touches Link’s forehead, finding only the barest hint of excess warmth there, and feels a huge flood of relief. The worst is over. Link stirs, just slightly, and presses his face more firmly into the King’s cool touch.

It’ll be a few more drowsy days of bed-rest before he’s feeling entirely like himself again, Daphnes knows. But these few more days will be nothing compared to the previous two, and everything is really, truly, definitely going to be fine now.

Daphnes smiles down at him and settles himself in for the long run, finding he doesn’t much mind this part at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Come shout at me at smolhero on tumblr (or better yet, commission me!)


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